


"Close the Door"

by arthurmorgan-s-heart (Silverblind)



Series: Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Prompt Challenge, light spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17007033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/arthurmorgan-s-heart
Summary: Fill from "50 dialogue Prompts", #2: "Close the door."You have something to admit to Arthur.





	"Close the Door"

**Author's Note:**

> From my tumblr arthurmorgan-s-heart

“Close the door.”

Arthur immediately knows that something is wrong - you can see it in the way his shoulders tense, in how he looks you over from head to toe, searching for anything that might tell him what the matter is. You hadn’t wanted to worry him, but something in your voice, or your face, or maybe your eyes had given you away; he swings the door shut behind him before crossing the room in a few strides, drawing you into his arms.

“I’m alright,” you whisper as he kisses the top of your head. “I’m alright.”

It’s a lie, of course, and he knows it - still, he steps back, letting his hands fall from around your shoulders to seek yours instead, clasping one tightly in both of his. You’re more grateful than ever that Shady Belle is an actual house, with actual doors - you don’t need anyone eavesdropping on you, especially now.

“You wanna sit?” he asks quietly, and you nod, allowing him to lead you to his bed. He waits for you to sit before doing the same, still holding your hand. You feel as if you can’t breathe; you’d dreaded this moment for weeks, knowing that, if you didn’t tell him, your secret would eventually reveal itself. You had thought about what to say for countless nights, repeating it over and over in your head - and now that you’re here, now that you need to say it, your mind is blank, everything you had thought to say forgotten.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you’re almost startled when his hand touches your cheek, gently angling your head toward him so that he can look you in the eye. You wish you’d turned away - the genuine concern you see in his gaze does nothing to steady the beating of your heart or still your racing mind.

“Please,” he rasps, his voice low and thick with worry. “Talk to me, darlin’.”

You pull away from his touch, looking down at the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut and open your mouth to speak, though the words stick in your throat, until, finally, you manage a whisper.

“I’m pregnant.”

You’re ready for his rejection, his anger, his resentment - but his silence is much worse than anything you could have imagined. You don’t dare look at him. He had told you about Eliza and Isaac long ago - and despite the years since their deaths, there had always been a raw pain behind his eyes whenever he talked about them, a wound that had never been given a chance to heal. He might have been ready to be a father again, one day; but not like this. Not while you’re on the run with the rest of the gang, with the future growing more and more uncertain by the day.

He’s still silent when he stands up, leaving you on the bed, and you hear him cross the room and push open the door to the balcony before he steps outside. Hot tears of sorrow and regret run down your cheeks, but you don’t even have the strength to reach up and wipe them away. You wrap your arms around your middle, hunching forward as a sob spills from your lips, followed by another, and another. You had tried to prepare yourself for this, you had known it was a real possibility - that he wouldn’t want you anymore, that he would leave - but you still feel as if your heart has been ripped from your chest.

You press a hand to your mouth, trying to muffle your cries - so focused on doing so that you don’t hear him come back into the room. Your eyes snap open when you feel a hand on your wrist, gently prying your hand away from your mouth, rough fingers twining with yours as you look up and meet his eye. You can’t quite tell how he’s feeling - there is too much swirling behind his eyes -, and you suspect he might not even know himself. But when he leans in to kiss your cheek, just the slightest brush of his lips on your skin, you know he’ll be with you, through this and everything else, whatever may happen.

“We’ll be alright,” he whispers - his words are edged with grief, but they bring you comfort all the same. He places his hand on your stomach, the familiar warmth soothing your fears, if only for a moment. “All of us.”


End file.
